Uncloak and Dagger
by Avalon3
Summary: Skinner unexpectedly drops by Scully's apartment...and chaos ensues.


**THE STARK CROSSED LOVERS TRILOGY I:**   
**UNCLOAK AND DAGGER**   
by Avalon (avalon99@telusplanet.net)   
http://members.dencity.com/avalon_online   
Skinner, Scully, PG-13, 1/1 

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NOTES: This was written a couple of years back, before recent events on the show. It would probably fit in at any point in season 2-5 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: To Linda Campbell for the subliminal programming she used to make me take some time off from writing Star Trek stories and return to the X-Files fold, and most of all - for creating a webpage for my fanfic! If I had had to wait until I learned HTML, it would have taken well into the next millennium to get a page. Thanks, Linda! 

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't own 'em. 'Nuff said. 

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UNCLOAK AND DAGGER 

The doorbell was ringing. For a moment Scully was tempted to sink deeper under the water in her bathtub and ignore it. But the sound grew more insistent, grating on her nerves until she finally gave up and emerged, dripping, from the tub. Shivering slightly, she reached for her robe...not there... Damn! -- it was in the laundry. Muttering under her breath, she seized the largest towel she could find, wrapped it hastily around her body, and headed for the door, damp tendrils of hair curling around her neck. 

The doorbell hadn't stopped. Scully swore again. "Mulder," she thought grimly, "if this is you, you're dead. Toast. History." She took a tighter grip on the towel and stretched up to squint through the peephole...and froze. It was Skinner. 

Now what? For a moment, her vaunted training and ability to think on her feet deserted her. She couldn't answer the door like this. Could she? "Pop quiz -- you're wearing nothing but a towel and a smile, and your boss is at the door. What do you do, hotshot? What do you DO?" Her mind was obviously beginning to ramble. The doorbell continued to ring. 

Finally, taking a deep breath, she reached down and opened the door. The towel, which had looked so big earlier now seemed no larger than a facecloth. She opened her mouth to say something...and suddenly found her arms full of ex-Marine. Scully was too surprised to even attempt to dodge, and his weight drove them both to the floor. A startled silence ensued. 

Scully found herself lying full length on her apartment floor with the Assistant Director of the FBI on top of her. She blinked and...squeaked. There was no other word for it. Scully didn't generally squeak, but these circumstances were...unusual. To say the least. 

Taking a deep breath, she twisted her head down to look at him. He wasn't moving and, for a moment, Scully wondered if he had been overcome with lust by the sight of her in a towel. Then the fog in her mind cleared and she realized that he was unconscious. On top of her. She also realized she couldn't breathe. 

"Uh...Sir?" There was no reply. She levered one arm out from underneath him and hesitantly poked at his ribs. "Sir? AD Skinner?" Louder this time. Still no reply. Her lungs were beginning to complain vehemently about the lack of air. 

All right. Oxygen first, deal with...everything else...later. Diffidently at first, then with more fervour, she tried to slide out from underneath her boss. It wasn't working. He seemed to have fallen in such a way that left her absolutely no room to maneuver. Her left arm was trapped beneath him and she could get very little leverage with her right. His hips pinned hers to the floor and one of his legs had fallen between hers, touching a certain portion of her anatomy that reminded her forcefully that she was wearing nothing but a large, fluffy towel...and that the door was still open. This was becoming embarrassing. Actually, she had gone past embarrassment and was hurtling towards mortification. Still, at least their proximity told her something. He was alive. She could feel his heartbeat against hers and feel his slow breaths against her ear. 

Scully pushed upward. It did no good. The man was built like a tree. And there was never a lumberjack around when you needed one. For an instant she thought of calling for help...her cellular phone was almost within reach...but she hastily rejected the idea. She needed air _now_. And besides, who would she call? "Oh Mulder, could you come by my place and help me get out from under the Assistant Director? Great. Thanks." Right. 

Gritting her teeth, she redoubled her efforts. By a combined effort of twisting, sliding, and pushing, she managed to escape pull herself free. Unfortunately, the towel stayed put. A sudden draft engulfed her...and Skinner stirred, groaned, and rolled over onto his back. 

Scully hadn't moved so fast in years. Actually, she gave new meaning to the term "streak of lightning"... With one leap she flung herself forward and slammed the door closed then launched herself at her closet. Behind her, his eyes began to flicker open.   
  
"No. NO, NO, NO!" This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Frantically she flung the closet door open and pulled out the nearest item. She had it halfway on before she realized that it was her blue summer jacket... and that it was only a half inch this side of decency. She reached back for something else...and then it was too late. 

"Dana?" His voice was weak and slurred. She stiffened and, keeping her back to him, hurriedly shoved her other arm through the jacket and zipped it, nearly catching her fingers in the process. Only then did she turn around, her heart thudding uncomfortably. 

His eyes were glazed and unfocused. Abruptly, the doctor in her took over and, ignoring her relative state of undress, she moved hurriedly to his side. "Sir?" She spoke softly, taking in the bruise on his forehead and the signs of concussion. Clinically she checked him for other injuries. "Are you all right? What happened?" 

A dozen possibilities ran through her mind. Another attack by mysterious government forces, enemies in the upper echelons of the FBI, street gangs... 

"Agent Scully..." He interrupted her thoughts. His voice was stronger now and he was frowning as he stared up at her. "Why am I wet?" He glanced down at his damp shirt. 

"You...Uh..." No, she couldn't tell him. "It's...a long story, Sir." Hastily she changed the subject. "Are you all right?" 

The Assistant Director's frown deepened and he slowly levered himself to a sitting position, wincing a little at the pain his movements caused. Then he looked back at her, taking in her clothing...or lack thereof. His eyes wandered slowly over every inch of her body. A rosy blush appeared on her face and she cringed inwardly, realizing that her jacket was doing very little to hide...well, anything. Its deep V-neck and cutoff point high across her thighs made her look like...she didn't want to think what it looked like. And she could only imagine what her damp hair and still moist body were adding to the overall effect. She tugged ineffectively at the bottom hem of the jacket. His eyes followed the motion. 

"You're...uh...you're..." He cleared his throat.   
  
"I...was in the bathtub." Was it getting hotter in here? His eyebrows climbed even higher. 

Still gazing at her, an expression she couldn't quite decipher written on his face, Skinner slowly reached inside his jacket and handed her a sheaf of papers. Wordlessly, she took it with numb hands. His fingertips brushed hers and she jumped. 

The Assistant Director spoke carefully. "I was bringing these by for you...given the time limits of the case you're working on, I thought you'd rather have them tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow." He still hadn't managed to stop staring at her. She licked her lips nervously. Big mistake. His eyes fastened on them and her heart jolted painfully. For a long moment they sat, frozen in place then she jerked her gaze away. 

"And...?" She finally managed to say. It came out as a croak. 

"And what?" he whispered. She had never heard him whisper before. It sent cold shivers down her spine, shivers that had nothing to do with the fact that she was clad only in thin nylon. 

"And..." her voice trailed off. What was she saying? She was an FBI agent, for heaven's sake, a trained professional. She could do this... "And who did this to you?" The professional part of her mind moved valiantly onward -- she would have to call the Bureau, probably the police, get a description of the perpetrators, send out an APB... 

A dull red colour crept over Skinner's face and he finally looked away, muttering something under his breath. 

"Pardon?" 

He responded more loudly, still not meeting her gaze. "A...flowerpot...fell on me." 

Now it was her turn to blink. "Excuse me?" 

"A pot of flowers. From the balcony above yours. Petunias, I think." 

She met his eyes again, incredulously. "Petunias?" She was starting to squeak again. 

"Pink ones." 

Oh my. Suddenly it was all too much. The thought of the six-foot something ex-marine being felled by a pot of pink petunias, coupled with the facts that he was now sitting soggily on her apartment floor, and that she could be arrested for indecent exposure at any moment, was too much for her. Her lips twitched and a tiny giggle escaped her. Gallantly she tried to quell the laughter. 

Skinner stared balefully at her for a moment, then his expression changed and he reached beneath him. 

"Scully -- Why am I sitting on a towel?"   
  
The laughter abruptly died within her. What was she supposed to say? She couldn't tell him the truth, although from the look in his eyes it was plain he had a good idea of what had happened... No. In the end she decided to say nothing, taking refuge in a mask of cool professionalism instead. "You should see a doctor, Sir." 

"I _am_ seeing a Doctor" His eyes roamed over her once more. 

She blushed even harder, wishing desperately that she could start the day over again. The moment stretched between them until she thought it would break. Finally, Skinner broke the silence by climbing to his feet. She did likewise, trying surreptitiously again to tug the jacket lower around her. It didn't work. Skinner made no comment, merely handed her the towel wordlessly, then moved toward the doorway. 

Scully glanced down at the papers in her hand. "Thank you for bringing these by." 'If she could just get him out the door...' she thought desperately. "And I'm sorry about the petunias," she said. 

Skinner paused, his hand on the door knob, and looked back at her, his eyes glimmering with amusement and...something else. "All things considered, Agent Scully," he said, "...I'm not." He cast her a rakish grin and then he was gone. 

THE END (for now) 


End file.
